


Bright Heart Spilling Blue Light

by agib, Shoyzz



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arc Reactor, Arc Reactor AU, Arc Reactor Angst, Arc Reactor Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, POV Peter Parker, POV Tony Stark, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-09-29 12:08:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17203136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agib/pseuds/agib, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shoyzz/pseuds/Shoyzz
Summary: What if Peter was the one to take the hit in Afghanistan?What if Peter got the arc reactor instead of Tony?Stay tuned, because Peter having the reactor changes the course of events for the rest of the timeline...





	1. Afghanistan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically the opening scene of Iron Man 1 if Peter were Tony's biological son (and happened to take the most damage from the shrapnel)...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI!
> 
> I'm so excited to be posting this and it's been so much fun working on this with Shoyzz!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy it! Leave all the comments letting us know what you think!
> 
> <3

\---- Kunar Province, Afghanistan ----

A large radio was blasting AC/DC’s Back in Black, the army grade Humvee jostled as it drove behind two and in front of one more, down a rocky dirt road. Tony sat in the backseat, a glass of scotch with four ice cubes in one hand, while his second arm was draped over the back of Peter’s seat casually. The boy in question was leaning more and more into his Dad’s side as the drive stretched on.

Tony rolled his head to his left, tearing his gaze away from where Peter had been fiddling with the sleeve of his hoodie for the past eight minutes. There was one of the three soldiers in full uniform, and yet he seemed to be looking at Tony as if he were about to lean over and bite him.

“I feel like you’re driving me to court martial, this is crazy. What did I do?” He paused, looking to where the man in the passenger seat was twisted to face him, “I feel like you’re gonna pull over and snuff me. What, you’re not allowed to talk?” Nobody answered but he felt as Peter looked up from his sleeves. “Hey, forest?” He looked to the man beside him curiously.

“We can talk sir,” the man replied almost immediately.

“Oh, I see, so it’s personal,” he baited easily.

“No, you intimidate them,” a very female voice answered, Tony lifted his head and realised the driver, who was dressed in the same uniform the other two men were in, had been the one to speak.

“Good god, you’re a woman. I honestly - I couldn’t have called that. I’d apologise, but isn’t that what we’re going for here? I thought it’d be as a soldier first.” He looked to his left again and quirked a small smile as the man beside him didn’t bother attempting to hide his amusement.

“I’m an airman,” the woman replied evenly, keeping her eyes on the road as they drove. Each time a relative sized rock or pothole went under the wheel, Tony felt his body rock to the side and he had no complaints when each time it did, he felt Peter’s shoulder bumping against his upper arm.

“But you have actually, excellent bone structure there, I’m kinda… havin’ a hard time not looking at you now, is that weird?” The three all cracked a grin and the man beside Tony laughed audibly. “Come on, it’s okay, laugh!”

“Sir, I - I have a question to ask,” the man in the passenger seat was fully turned in his seat now, almost sitting completely backward.

“Yes, please,” Tony encouraged, glancing down momentarily to check Peter’s soft smile was still visible, it was, it made him smile too.

 _The kid’s smile is contagious_.

“Is it true you went twelve for twelve with last year’s Maxim cover models?” Tony laughed as he pulled off his sunglasses.

“That is an excellent question,” he grinned before feigning a serious face. He could see Peter’s nose wrinkling from beside him and he leaned over, cupping the boy’s ears with his hands and smiling. The amount of times he’s had to jokingly cover Peter’s ears was beginning to amount, but he didn’t really believe the kid cared that much, especially considering the fond eye roll he was giving his Dad as his ears were blocked.

Tony gave a final judgement call on whether Peter was actually uncomfortable, he wasn’t, before he launched into the answer. “Yes and no, March and I had a scheduling conflict, but fortunately the Christmas cover was twins.” He grinned as he saw the woman driving huff a soft laugh from her seat, he lifted his hands from the sides of Peter’s head and took a moment to smile reassuringly at him and ruffle the top of his head before draping it back behind his seat. “Anything else?”

The man to his left raised a hand with the same intimidated and nervous look on his face. “You’re kidding me with the hand up, right?” The arm lowered, and the man spoke.

“Is it cool if I take a picture with you?” Surprisingly, his voice came out steadier than what Tony was expecting, Peter smiled at his lap from beside him, knowing that his Dad was never the type of celebrity who would shrug off the polite request for a picture or signature. The only times he would deny a fan of that, was when there were too many and they began to swarm him or Peter.

“Yes, it’s very cool,” Tony said, a small smile on his face as the man eagerly pulled a camera from his pocket and practically shoved it into the hands of the man sat in the passenger seat. He leaned to the side so Peter would be out of the frame, “I don’t wanna see this on your Myspace page.” The man lifted two fingers in a peace sign, “please, no gang signs,” he said without any real heat, the fingers lowered, “no, throw it up, I’m kidding.”

The man grinned and lifted his two fingers again, “yeah, peace, I love peace. I’d be out of a job with peace.” The two watched the man in the front seat fiddling with the camera for a moment, scrunching his face to squint at the screen through the desert sun and making a few grunts of confusion as he prodded the camera a few times.

“Come on, hurry up, just click it - don’t change any settings, just click i -”

The man’s instructions were cut off abruptly as a massive bang shocked the passengers of the vehicle. The man holding the camera jolted forward in his seat and dropped the device as he did so, the woman driving yelled in fright and everyone was thrown against their seatbelts roughly as she slammed the breaks. The vehicle that had been driving in front of them, which had only been several yards away, had seemingly burst into flames without cause, a small mushroom cloud of fiery smoke and bits of the exterior flew upward into the air. The door had gone flying out into the rocky dirt that stretched on for miles and it had travelled so fast that if someone had been in its path, they would have been hit with a force equal to being run down by a car.

Almost immediately after the woman had slammed on the breaks, the sound of gunfire broke out from outside the Humvee, pieces of door and windshield still raining down around them. She was yelling something that Tony couldn't hear over the sound of warfare and guns raining bullets around them, the pinging noises signified they were hitting the doors where they were all sitting. The radio had long since been either broken or drowned out by the cacophony of noises that he had hoped his son would only ever hear in old war documentaries from school.

Tony felt his eyes going wide and he swivelled to face the man who had wanted a picture, who was fumbling with his gun and looking as panicked as Tony.

“What’s going on?” He yelled over the deafening sound of gunfire.

“Contact left!” The woman screamed as she kicked open her door.

“What have we got?” He yelled again, his eyes darting around the vehicle and growing wider as he watched through the dusty window as the woman charged forward all of three steps before going down with the crackle of bullets which still flurried around them. He gasped, his drink was long forgotten, spilled across the floor as the ice cubes began to melt.

“Jimmy, stay with Stark!” The man in the passenger seat shouted, barely turning back as he jumped out of his own door, holding his gun and beginning to fire.

“Stay down!” The man to his left, whose name was apparently Jimmy, ordered, and Tony ducked without hesitation.

“Yeah,” he called weakly, following the order immediately. Only as his elbows hit the seat cushion did he flip over onto his back and stare, wide-eyed, at Peter, who looked terrified out of his mind and was scrabbling across the seats to duck down with him. He threw his arm out and grabbed his kid’s arms, tugging him down in the seat and attempting to shield his body from wherever the threat was. With so much gunfire, he couldn’t even tell where it was coming from.

He slid further down, his shoulder pressed against the floor of the vehicle, Peter wedged, hopefully safely, between his chest and the back of the driver's seat. He saw as the man who once held the camera set his gun up against the hood of the car, using it as protection as he began to fire back. He had barely been shooting for two seconds before something large fired back, Tony heard a yell and then the side of the windscreen, where the man had been crouched, shattered in a spider web pattern.

He gaped and scrambled backwards, pulling Peter back up onto the seat with him as he realised even ducking down wouldn’t save them. Breathing heavily, he ran a hand over his chest as he inspected the entirety of Peter’s torso for any damage.

“Son of a -” The man’s furious outburst was muffled by another large crash and Tony saw him click the final part of his gun in place and unlock the door handle, pulling it open.

“Wait, wait, wait! Give me a gun!” He yelled hoarsely, reaching one arm out but keeping the other firmly wrapped around Peter.

“Stay here!” The man screamed back, turning away from the vehicle. There was a horrendous bang and then the man was crying out in pain and falling back against the door, multiple holes littered the side of the Humvee, Tony’s ears were ringing painfully, and he opened his eyes warily, not even having realised he had shut them. He breathed heavily, turning his head to look out of the badly cracked and dusty windows to see the remnants of the vehicle that had been blown to pieces, the fire and smoke covering the debris. Tony felt sick, his head was pounding angrily, his ears rang and as he swivelled around, he took note of the rest of the vehicle’s, which were all empty of soldiers and the ground surrounding them was littered with camo green bodies.

Elbowing the door open, Tony stumbled out of the Humvee, clutching Peter tightly and keeping him pressed close against his side. By the time he had gotten a few steps away from the vehicle, his hearing had come back enough to notice the whistling of something being dropped through the air and the distant thrumming of a plane overhead. Tony gripped Peter’s arm tighter as he pulled them both back against the door, he raised his arm in protection as something landed and quickly went up in flames just to the side of where they had both been standing seconds before.

Tony pushed back off the door, yanking Peter up with him and tearing forwards, he sprinted as fast as he could with a wavering kid held against his side and constant intervals where he slowed to lift an arm to shield them both while the gunshots continued to echo all around them. He saw three large rocks in a pile and pulled Peter down as he leapt for them desperately, hitting the ground and rolling onto his back, his dark suit coating in tawny, greyish dust and pebbles.

Peter panted at his side, his small hands fisted in his Dad’s sleeve as they both pressed their backs up against the rocks. Dirt was raining down on them and Tony could feel it hitting his hair and some breaking up and falling irritatingly into his eyes and mouth as he spluttered. A small fire swelled up into the air from his left and he wrenched Peter away from it and lifted him over his lap to rest against his right side while he pulled his phone out from his jacket pocket. He frantically began to type a distress message for whatever contact was opened when the phone switched on, he didn’t have time to check, when another whistling noise filled the air, this time much louder.

There was a cloud of white smoke that trailed from the bomb as it landed directly beside and in front of where him and Peter were sheltering themselves from bullets. Tony could hear the buzzing and slow blinking red light that signalled the countdown of the bomb, but his eyes locked onto something else.

The missile was long, black and had a glowing red tail end, he would recognise that design any day, because he had crafted it. He had been the one to draw up the concept sketches and formulate the sleek dimensions of the bomb which had _his_ company’s name plastered over the side in large white lettering.

Tony would have been embarrassed at the time it took for his body to catch up to his mind, but he was too busy throwing himself away from the rocks, his arms lifting to flail wildly as he yelled.

“Whoa!” He cried, floundering backward as Peter yelped and moved to follow.

Tony didn’t think that even if he had grabbed his child and shoved him away from the bomb, he would have been okay, because Peter had just been pulled over his lap to his right side, and ultimately, that’s what had gotten him.

The bomb went off in a cloud of orange and red flame, the impact sent Tony flying backward and hitting the ground with a painful thud, which knocked the air from his chest. The back of his head stung, and he swore he felt the dirt sticking to the drops of blood which were matting his hair to it uncomfortably. The billionaire groaned, coughing dust from his lungs and blinking sluggishly as his hand lazily waved the cloud of sooty dirt away from his pounding skull.

Everything around him was fuzzy and unfocused, all he could see was the occasional glimpse of the rocky desert, littered with pieces of the vehicles which were still in flames. His vision was constantly clouded with popping black spots and darkness crept further in from the corner of his eyes, but he caught sight of a terrifyingly familiar MIT sweatshirt, which was covered in small rips and tears that were slowly becoming soaked in deeper red. Blurry figures were surrounding the smaller form which was sprawled out, motionless on the ground. Cloudy shapes resembling arms and hands began to swirl towards Peter’s body, wrapping around his legs and arms, hoisting him up into a sitting position and allowing his limp neck to drop down, his chin smacking his chest, completely unresponsive.

Tony could make out the even fuzzier shapes of people who were all dissolving together into one large lump as they dragged his son across the barren desert earth, his legs scraping uselessly over rocks and around twisting, smoking chunks of Humvee. “P - Pe - Pet’r…” he slurred raspily, his finger twitching in response to his brain trying to lift his arm out towards where his child was being manhandled and pulled over the dirt.

Tony didn’t have the strength to move any further than where he lay, at least, not with the darkness eating up the rest of his vision like an over-enthusiastic sunset.

\----

Tony can hear voices, but he can’t understand a word of what they’re saying, everything is still dark and it takes him a moment to realise his eyes are closed. Peeling them open, he can’t see anything except for a damp, rocky ceiling above his head, underneath him he felt a stiff surface that he vaguely recognised as a hard cot. Despite the fact that his hearing had seemingly flooded back, Tony couldn’t make out much discernible sound, aside from the occasional tapping of metal instruments or the scratchy noise of glass clinking against glass.

He lay still on the cot for some time, telling himself that no matter how inviting the pull of sleep was, he needed to stay somewhat alert to his surroundings. His focus on staying awake was interrupted when there was a particularly loud clinking of glass and then a soft gasp, followed by a pained, wheezy whimper.

If Tony hadn’t been fully conscious before, he definitely was now.

Because he _recognised_ that whimper.

Blurry flashes of dust and fiery wreckage filled his head before the foggy picture of unclear figures hauling Peter away across the desert intruded his mind. “P - e - Pete?” He winced as his voice came out croaky and wrecked. “Pete - Peter?” He tried once more, pressing one hand back into the hard mattress and forcing himself to sit up more.

The room was dull and poorly lit by a standing lamp and a weak bulb that seemed to barely hang onto the ceiling as it swung in slow circles, casting shadows across the others in the room. Tony could make out at least four people, they were huddled over a cot similar to his own and surrounded by various equipment and bandaging. An almost entirely bald man was leant over something laying on the bed, a pair of surgical scissors in his hand and a roll of gauze in the other, he was saying something in another language, but his voice was frantic, rushed as though he was working under pressure.

Tony pressed his teeth together and held back a groan as his head began to pound in disagreement of his sudden movement. “H - hey,” he grated, his voice gravelly, “hey!” He tried again, more forceful this time. One of the people turned to cast a glance at him, but everyone else seemed too busy focusing on whatever was laid atop the cot.

Another painfully recognisable whine sounded from the general direction of the huddle, and Tony quirked up, gripping the edge of the mattress as he pulled his legs off the side of the cot. He saw the balding man lift a scalpel in his hand after rolling out some of the gauze, and then he was cutting carefully into something. Tony flinched when a wail ripped through the air, he stumbled back a step and leant against the leg of the bed. “What’re you doin’?” He said, his words slightly slurred as his brain kicked up and his adrenaline built.

When nobody even turned to face him, he distantly wondered if he were in a dream, but as another yowl of pain echoed off the walls of the room, he decided it was more likely a nightmare.

Peter was only ever hurt like this in his nightmares.

The wails melted into noises that he would have described as howls, and despite the nausea clawing its way through Tony’s stomach, he skittered forward, not caring as he had to shove a cart out of his way to get to the cot. “Petey? Kid, wha’ - what’s happening?” He felt too far away, he was further back from the bed, but he could still see the blood, the pieces of metal embedded in too-pale skin, the gauze wrapped around sharp collarbones and jutting hips as yellow cubes of sponge dabbed away splotches of spilled blood.

Another cry, one that could only be called a scream, a broken sob and someone moving on the cot, squirming, _resisting_. The scream triggered something deep inside Tony and he had no clue what, all he knew was that he never wanted to hear his child in pain, and he needed to stop what or whoever was inflicting him now. “Stop! Please stop it, he’s bleeding. God, you - you’re _hurting_ him!”

Tony forced a shaky foot forward, his hand reaching out and wrenching the back of the balding man’s shirt, so he was pulled away from the helpless form laid across the cot. “What are you doing to him?” He yelled, shaking the man roughly, exuding strength despite feeling weaker than he had since the last bad hangover.

“What I did?” The man asked before answering the question, his accent thick but his words understandable, “what I am doing is to save his life.” Tony frowned deeply, waiting for him to continue, “I removed all the shrapnel I could,” he ploughed forward, while Tony’s mind reeled.

_Shrapnel? Why is there shrapnel? My missile did this, my own work is hurting my own child._

“But there’s a lot left, and it’s headed into his atrial septum right now,” he glanced up from where his eyes were stuck on the drops of blood staining the floor beneath the cot. The man must have taken his horror as confusion, because he lifted a hand and pointed to a vial sat on the cart Tony had pushed away just beforehand. “Don’t believe me? That’s a souvenir, take a look,” he reached a hand over and plucked the glass vial before holding it out for Tony to see.

Three sharp, triangular pieces of metal sat at the bottom of it, they rolled along the sides of the glass when it moved around. “I’ve seen many wounds like this in my village. We call them the walking dead, because it takes about a week for the barbs to reach the vital organs.” Tony felt even sicker at the words, how could he have let this happen? Was Peter dying because of him?

As if the man could read his thoughts, he answered, “the boy’s not dying, not yet anyway, unless you prevent me from operating any longer than you already have.” Tony released his fists as a much louder scream pierced the room, he felt his throat closing up as a lump began to build.

“Yinsen, cloth,” a man called, placing a folded rag in his hand. The man, Yinsen, turned back to the cot, he poured something over the rag and Tony barely had time to see as he reached down and laid it over Peter’s mouth and nose, smothering him for a brief second before the boy took an unsteady breath in and his eyes fluttered shut, his body going still as he slumped into unconsciousness, his thrashing ceased.

Tony let his fists untense from where they were squeezed together tightly, before clenching them again as he eyed a bulky, circular piece of metal with wires running out from its sides which sat on a separate bench.

“What is this,” he asked quietly, his finger curling out to touch it before dropping back to his side.

“That is an electromagnet, hooked up to a car battery,” Yinsen didn’t even turn from where he had begun to cut into Peter’s chest again, Tony tried not to look. “It will keep the shrapnel from entering his heart,” he closed his eyes and swallowed dryly, coughing once as the feeling of nausea rose higher in his torso.

He didn’t think much time had passed and yet the door was sliding open and armed men were storming in. They all wore green army jackets, criss-crossed with multiple guns each, half wearing bandana masks and the rest in black ski masks. They stormed in the room and none of the huddle around Peter even bothered to lift their heads in acknowledgement as one of the men gripped Tony’s arm with bruising force and tugged him away from the cot.

“Get off,” he demanded, attempting to pull his arm away even as two more men came forward to assist. “Hey! get off me, that’s my kid! Stop!” They pushed him to the doorway and he had no time to try and get back to Peter’s side before someone from behind shoved a scratchy burlap sack over his head.

A nudge with the barrel of one of the men’s guns had him moving forward. Tony wasn’t coherent enough to count the turns or number of steps he was taking; his mind was solely focused on how _small_ and _hurt_ his kid had looked on that cot.

Eventually, after a time Tony didn’t bother to estimate, he was forced down until he felt a chair underneath him. There was silence for a moment, then something clicked and beeped before the burlap sack was pulled off his head. His eyes were assaulted with direct lighting and he squinted immediately, slowly waiting for his eyes to adjust to the new light.

A gun was inches away from his face in warning and the men who had burst into the first room were all behind him now, standing in a line. Across from him, Tony could make out the only two men who weren’t wearing masks, they were standing by a tripod and camera setup, the blinking red light turned on. Another man was holding a yellow writing pad and reading off it in a language so foreign that if he hadn’t known what country he was in, Tony would have had no clue what it was.

\---- Las Vegas, 36 Hours Earlier ----

“ _Tony Stark. Visionary. Genius. American patriot. Even from an early age, the son of legendary weapons developer Howard Stark quickly stole the spotlight with his brilliant and unique mind. At age four, he built his first circuit board. At age six, his first engine. And at 17, he graduated summa cum laude from MIT. Then, the passing of a titan. Howard Stark's lifelong friend and ally, Obadiah Stane, steps in to help fill the gap left by the legendary founder, until, at age twenty-one, the prodigal son returns and is anointed the new CEO of Stark Industries. With the keys to the kingdom, Tony ushers in a new era for his father's legacy, creating smarter weapons, advanced robotics, satellite targeting. Today, Tony Stark has changed the face of the weapons industry, by ensuring freedom and protecting America, and her interests around the globe_.”

A large spotlight lit up the podium where Rhodey was stood, an almost proud smile on his face as he adjusted the mic and addressed the crowd.

“As liaison to Stark Industries, I've had the unique privilege of serving with a real patriot. He is my friend and he is my great mentor. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honour to present this year's Apogee Award to Mr. Tony Stark.”

He looked up as the crowd began applauding, his eyes scanned the tables filling the large room and he frowned slightly, keeping careful to hide his confusion from the guests as Tony didn’t immediately step out onto the stage with a large grin. He held the award in one hand and leaned back into the mic, “Tony?”

Rhodey’s eyes met Obadiah’s, he was the only person in the room not clapping, he was sat at a table and his head shook side to side disappointedly, the tell-tale look in his eyes saying Tony was off doing something which irritated him. Rhodey blanked for a moment, standing on stage with the award in his fist, keeping his smile on for the crowd, even as Obadiah stood and walked up to the stage. He hesitantly handed over the award and stepped back a few paces, letting the man take the podium.

“Thank you Colonel,” Obadiah said, putting all his attention on admiring the award he now held.

“Thanks for the save,” Rhodey said quietly, keeping away from where the mic could pick it up.

“This is beautiful, thank you. Thank you all very much,” Obadiah said, the classic smile he only gave to the press flashing over his face. “This is wonderful,” he continued, pausing for a moment to think, “well, I’m not Tony Stark.” The crowd laughed lightly, the applause dying down to a simmer, “but if I were Tony, I would tell you how honoured I feel, and what a joy it is to receive this very prestigious award.”

Rhodey contained his eye roll for another time, Obadiah was laying it on thick, they both knew how little these awards meant to Tony, he had about eight of them lying around somewhere. “Tony, you know…” he could see the man’s jaw tightening slightly, “the best thing about Tony is also the worst thing, he’s always working.”

\----

“Okay but how do you not just feel like you’re eating frozen toothpaste kid? Look at it, it’s bright green.” Tony poked a spoon at Peter’s bowl and leant back so he was slouched against the booth’s cushioning. Peter smiled and swallowed his mouthful of mint ice cream.

“Yeah well, it’s like eating ice cream is brushing your teeth,” Tony huffed a laugh and shook his head amusedly.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works Pete,” he nudged Peter’s foot with his own and quirked an eyebrow, “as long as you still brush your teeth, you can eat all the weird ice cream you want.”

“Hey! Mint isn’t weird, plenty of people like mint!” Tony laughed and pushed the napkin holder to the side, so he could watch Peter’s grin spread to a larger smile.

“You are unbelievable.” Tony looked up to see Rhodey standing beside their booth, looking thoroughly unsurprised, yet not as irked as Tony would have thought.

“Oh no, did they rope you into this?” Tony asked, smiling despite the way his voice was dripping with fake concern.

“Nobody roped me into anything, but they told me that if I presented you with an award, you’d be deeply honoured.” Rhodey took a moment to look over at Peter and smile lopsidedly, “hey squirt.”

“Of course, I’d be deeply honoured, and it’s you, that’s great.” Tony watched as Peter beamed up at Rhodey and shuffled further down his side of the booth, so he could sit. “So, when do we do it?”

“It’s right here,” Rhodey said, holding up the award and looking mildly put out, “here you go.” Peter looked at the award and ran a finger over the glass globe representing Earth curiously.

“There it is, that was easy!” Tony laughed, grabbing a spoonful of Peter’s ice cream and grinning wider as the boy playfully smacked his spoon away. “I’m so sorry,” he apologised to Rhodey, a hint of amusement still on his face.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Rhodey said uninterestedly, focusing more on the plates pushed to the side of Peter and Tony’s table, grabbing a few lone fries and counting it as his compensation for presenting the award.

“Wow, would you look at that? That’s something else, I don’t have any of those floating around,” he said sarcastically, plucking one of the last fries from the plate as a second person walked up to their table at the back of the dim restaurant.

“Tony, come on now… really?” Obadiah rapped his knuckles against the table and sighed heavily as he looked between Tony and Peter. “You know these awards are more important than ice cream, you need to keep appearances up, and ditching press events like this to sit in a booth with the kid isn’t going to do the company’s image any good.”

“Come on Obie, it’s one award. Besides, _Peter_ needed dinner,” Tony pushed the emphasis on Peter’s name, prickeling when Obadiah opted to dismiss him.

“I’m pretty sure he’s smart enough to order food on his own Tony, and no, it isn’t just one award, this is the fourth consecutive Apogee Award you _haven’t_ received.” He folds his arms over his chest and looks accusingly between the two, ignoring Rhodey.

“Okay, fine, next year I’ll be there,” Tony raised his arms in mock surrender, ignoring Obadiah’s unimpressed gaze. “But we’re getting ice cream after,” he grins, looking to Peter who’s balling his fists in his sweatshirt sleeves. Obadiah didn’t laugh.

\----

“This is where I exit,” Rhodey said, shaking Tony’s hand and giving a mock salute to Peter as he split away from where Happy was escorting the two to the car. “Tomorrow, don’t be late,” he called.

“Yeah, you can count on it,” Tony assured, dropping his hand to Peter’s shoulders as he walked.

“I’m serious!” Rhodey yelled before slipping out of view with a final wave to the two.

“Render unto Caesar, that which is Caesar’s. There you go,” he pronounced, passing the award into the raised hand of a man dressed in ancient battle attire. Peter laughed and skipped to keep up with Tony’s pace, smiling as the same arm fell around his shoulders and unconsciously kept him close. “Let’s roll Hap,” Tony opened the door and Peter climbed in after him.

Barely fifteen minutes into the drive home and Peter’s head had already started to lull against his Dad’s shoulder as he yawned. “Tired buddy?” Peter hummed in response and Tony carded a careful hand through his curls. “It was the mint,” he moved his fingers down to the nape of the teen’s neck and squeezed gently, “you always brush your teeth before going to bed, so your brain makes a neurological connection between mint and sleep, which is why the ice cream makes y -”

“Hey Dad?”

“Yeah, kiddo?” Tony’s hand brushed its way back to the top of Peter’s head where he resumed combing through his hair.

“Shut up,” Peter tittered, hiding his short, half-suppressed laugh in Tony’s shoulder.

\---- Malibu, California ----

“Good morning Peter. It's seven a.m. The weather in Malibu is seventy-two degrees with scattered clouds. The surf conditions are fair with waist-to-shoulder high lines. High tide will be at ten fifty-two a.m.”

Peter roused as his curtains were pulled open and sunlight spilled into his room, he blinked blearily and rubbed some sleep from his eyes.

“Thanks Jarvis,” he mumbled as he pulled sweatpants over his boxers and slipped a hoodie over his sleeping shirt before padding his way out into the hall and down to the kitchen. “Dad’s in the lab?” He asked as the toaster popped for him, he smiled and held it in his mouth as he pressed the coffee machine and let it pour a cup which Jarvis knew he would take down to Tony. “Didn’t he have a weapons demo today?”

“Indeed,” the A.I responded while Peter chewed on his toast thoughtfully before grabbing the mug and taking it downstairs to his Dad’s workshop.

\----

Tony was fiddling with one of his cars, taking parts apart and occasionally looking up to where Jarvis had a schematic projection of the vehicle up. He was hardly paying attention to anything else, Institutionalized by Suicidal Tendencies was blasting in the background, and he vaguely recognised the sound of someone inputting their code into the door.

“Give me an exploded view,” he asked, Jarvis expanded the three-dimensional layout of the car and he bit the inside of his cheek as he watched it.

“The compression in cylinder three appears to be low,” Jarvis provides.

“Log that,” Tony said distractedly, not looking up even as he heard the click of the door opening.

“Mornin’ Dad,” Peter murmured sleepily, putting the coffee down on a workbench before wrapping his arms around Tony’s side and burying his face in the man’s shoulder.

“Thanks kid,” Tony downed the coffee quickly and freed a hand from his tinkering to return the hug. “Hand me that drive socket wrench, would you?” Peter reached an arm out without breaking the hug and put it on the wheel of the car, squeezing before releasing from the embrace. “Thanks,” Tony picked up the tool and dove back into dismantling parts of the car, keeping the relaxed quiet in the room aside from the music.

“So, the weapons demo was cancelled then?” Peter asked, sitting down and leaning his back against the wheel of the car which was closest to where his Dad was working. Tony only hummed in reply, content to keep the kid from trying to hurry him up for Rhodey’s sake.

Peter looked up and smiled softly when he heard the beeping as Pepper input her own code and walked into the workshop, holding a clipboard in one hand and a phone up to her ear in the other.

“I’m gonna try again, right now,” she said into the receiver.

“Please don’t turn down my music,” Tony complained as the music faded away.

“I’ll keep you posted,” Pepper promised, clicking the phone off and readjusting the hold on her clipboard. “You’re supposed to be halfway around the world right now,” she reprimanded as Tony continued to dedicate majority of his attention to the car.

“Why are you trying to hustle me out of here?” He inspected a part of the engine, squinting as he held it up towards the light before putting it down beside his knee.

“Your flight was scheduled to leave an hour and a half ago,” Pepper sighed before she looked at Peter and smiled warmly.

“That’s funny, I thought with it being my plane and all, that it would just wait for me to get there.” Peter waved to Pepper and she ran a hand down her pencil skirt as if to wipe away non-existent wrinkles.

“Morning Peter,” she said kindly before directing her next words to Tony, “I need to speak to you about a couple of things before I get you out the door.” She brushed stray locks of her fringe behind her ear as Tony stood and sat on the wheel Peter was leaning against, absentmindedly cleaning one of his tools as the boy leaned back into his legs and smiled happily.

“Doesn’t it kind of defeat the whole purpose of having your own plane if it departs before you arrive?” Pepper ignored him and continued on.

“Larry called, he’s got another buyer for the Jackson Pollock in the wings. Do you want it? Yes or no.” Peter looked back and forth between the two, listening to the fast-tracked conversation going on before him.

“Is it a good representation of his spring period?”

“No. The Springs was actually the neighbourhood in East Hampton where he lived and worked, not ‘spring’ like the season.” Pepper explained dutifully, giving Peter another smile when he lightly hit his Dad’s leg.

“So?” Tony asked, ruffling Peter’s hair with one hand and chuckling when he ran his own fingers through the curls in an attempt to fix them.

“I think it’s a fair example, I think it’s incredibly overpriced.” Tony stared blankly for a moment before speaking.

“I need it. Buy it. Store it.” He stood and began to walk down to the other end of the workshop and Peter followed, Pepper right behind with her heels tapping on the floor.

“Okay, the MIT commencement speech…”

“Is in June,” Tony interrupted, “please, don’t harangue me about stuff that’s way, way down -”

“They’re haranguing me, so I’m gonna say yes.” She tapped Peter’s chin as she passed him and they smiled brightly at each other as Tony turned around with an espresso shot in his hand.

“Deflect and absorb it, don’t transmit back to me,” he walked over to where Pepper was flipping over pages on the clipboard and holding out a pen.

“I need you to sign this before you get on the plane,” she said, letting Tony take the pen from her hand and scrawl his signature on the page she was holding out.

“What are you trying to get rid of me for? What, you got plans?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” she answered, tapping the other side of the page where a second signature was needed.

“I don’t like it when you have plans,” Tony griped as he signed once more.

“I’m allowed to have plans on my birthday,” Pepper said evenly.

“It’s your birthday?” She nodded, “I knew that,” Tony said immediately, then quirked his head and raised an eyebrow as if he were calculating something, “already?”

“Yeah, isn’t that strange? It’s the same day as last year.”

“Dad, I reminded you _twice_ last week.” Peter turned back to face Pepper and he smiled widely at her, “happy birthday!” She smiled at him and patted his head as she leaned forward to pluck the pen from Tony’s fingers.

“Get yourself something nice from me,” he said.

“I already did,” Pepper flipped the pages back down on her clipboard and checked the time on her phone, looking up as Tony raised his eyebrows in question. “It was very nice, very tasteful. Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Potts.” She turned on her heel, a smile on her face. “Get yourself on that plane,” she called before leaving the workshop, only stopping to return Peter’s small wave as the door shut behind her.

“Well kid, if Pep’s got plans, looks like you’re getting the privilege of watching a weapons demo with me in Afghanistan.”

\----

It was only a few hours later when Tony stepped out of the Stark four, Happy not far behind in his own car. Peter jumped out of the passenger side of his Dad’s car and watched Happy pop the trunk and shoulder a duffel bag along with the suit Tony would be wearing later that day.

“What’s wrong with you?” Rhodey yelled out from where he was standing, waiting by the door to the plane.

“What?” Tony said incredulously as he climbed the stairs, raising his arms as if he had no clue what his friend was talking about.

“Three hours,” Rhodey stated plainly, looking unimpressed while Happy loaded the bags onto the plane.

“I got caught doing a piece for Vanity Fair,” Tony defended, climbing the last step and standing by as Peter clambered up behind him, shooting Rhodey an apologetic look.

“For three hours. For three hours, you got me standing here,” he grumbled as Tony walked past him into the plane.

“Waiting on you now, let’s go, come on. Wheels up, rock and roll!” He yelled as he slipped into the cabin and found his seat.

“I’m sorry, I really tried,” Peter apologised contritely, looking sincere. Rhodey merely clapped his shoulder as they walked into the cabin and shook his head, waving him off.

“It’s all good squirt, we try.”

\---- Bagram Air Base, Afghanistan ----

“Is it better to be feared or respected? I say, is it too much to ask for both? With that in mind, I humbly present the crown jewel of Stark Industries' Freedom Line.” Tony looked to the multiple men before him in army uniforms before he focused on who was behind them all, standing by a cooler and waiting for his Dad patiently, was Peter. He was wearing the MIT sweatshirt he had stolen from Tony’s closet months ago, the sleeves dangled loosely from his arms and his hands were tucked inside the fabric.

“It's the first missile system to incorporate our proprietary repulsor technology. They say the best weapon is one you never have to fire. I respectfully disagree. I prefer the weapon you only have to fire once. That's how Dad did it. That's how America does it. And it's worked out pretty well so far. Find an excuse to let one of these off the chain, and I personally guarantee you the bad guys won't even want to come out of their caves.” The missiles tilted skyward, buzzing lowly as their trajectory relocated, they whined as they began to power up.

One of them launched and the firepower needed to get it into the air left a large plume of smoke which began to mix with the brown cloud of dust the launch had kicked up. In the air, the backing metal sheets broke off the exterior of the missile, and several dozen smaller projectiles broke free and spread out along a wide channel, each of them whistling as they neared their target points.

“For your consideration,” Tony raised his arms out as the missiles hit the mountains behind him, each going up in massive balls of fire and smoke as they collectively created a shock wave which rolled towards him, “the Jericho.”

The shock wave hit them heavy, blowing a cloud of dust so strong that Tony stumbled forward a step and military hats were blown away. Peter’s curls were ruffled, and they blew astray, a few loosely coming back down to rest over his forehead.

\----

Tony walked past where Peter had been standing by the cooler, he pressed a button and an array of ice, glasses and alcohol rose up from inside, a soft whirring noise indicating the mechanics of the crate.

He grabbed a glass of scotch and brushed a few stray curls from Peter’s face as he looked down fondly at the boy now walking by his side. “I’ll be throwing one of these in with every purchase of five hundred million or more,” he gestured to the cooler and raised his glass to the men as he walked away from the launch area, “to peace!”

He could feel Peter bumping his side lightly as they walked. His phone buzzed from his suit pocket and he pulled it out to answer. Obadiah’s face filled the screen, he was lying in bed and the camera angle was less than flattering for his face shape as he spoke.

“Tony,” he said a little too loudly, as if he didn’t know whether the phone would pick up his voice.

“Obie, what are you doing up?” Tony switched the hand holding his scotch, so he could carry both the phone and the glass in one hand as he let Peter lean completely into his side while they walked towards the vehicles.

“I couldn’t sleep till I found out how it went. How’d it go?” Obadiah saw as the curly haired kid leaned slightly into frame, his face was cut off by the camera angle and all he could see was the chocolaty-brown head of hair which was only a few shades lighter than Tony’s.

“It went great. Looks like it’s gonna be an early Christmas,” Tony frowned slightly from under his sunglasses as he noticed Obadiah sighing and furrowing his brow in annoyance.

“Seriously Tony, you took the kid? Leave him at home next time, this is a weapons demonstration, not a field trip.” Peter gnawed at the inside of his lip and looked up to his Dad, fearing he had done something wrong by coming, worrying he had put someone out by tagging along. “Is this why you were so late to the jet?” Tony shrugged it off and squeezed Peter’s shoulder reassuringly.

“The kid has a _name_ Obie, and no, I was late to the jet because I got caught up signing some stuff for Pep before we left.” Tony diverted the conversation from its course and changed the subject, “why aren’t you wearing those pyjamas I got you?”

“Good night, Tony.” The call clicked off and Tony huffed slightly as he got into the vehicle, Peter not far behind him as the door was shut. Rhodey walked around to the window and called for him.

“Hey Tony,” he leant over Peter and smiled humorously at his friend.

“I’m sorry, this is the ‘fun-vee.’ The ‘hum-drum-vee’ is back there.” Peter grimaced at his poor attempt at a play on words and he nudged him playfully with a free elbow.

“Nice job,” Rhodey praised sincerely, Tony softened slightly, his humour dropping for a moment.

“See you back at base,” he promised, smiling when Rhodey tapped the door twice in a go-ahead for the driver.

\----

 

Sweat matting hair to his forehead, concerned and rushed voices in a language his brain couldn’t pick apart. Something scratchy and sponge-like brushing against an open wound, held by a tool clutched in the gloved hand of someone Peter had never seen before in his life.

 

A scalpel. His own blood. Makeshift surgeons wiping their brows in concentration as they dug into his chest and smeared crimson over their white, plastic gloves.

 

He tried to cry out, to howl in pain when he felt someone digging inside him, to scream as someone prodded around the most sensitive area of his injury, but nobody heard, or maybe no one cared.

 

Peter shook his head and a sob caught in his throat as he tried to arch his back or squirm away from the invasive hands and tools being thrust around him, too fast for his mind to register the threat. He felt tears gathering as a door slammed somewhere in the background of the chaos, he wailed quietly, the first tear rolled down his cheek as a cloth was pressed over his face and everything fuzzed out and melted away from him.

 

\----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! And everyone give Shoyzz MAJOR props for her amazing art! <3
> 
>  
> 
> Her tumblr is @Shoyzz-Art and mine is @Agib-2002  
> <3


	2. Jericho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony finds out exactly what the men want from him. Being the stubborn and worried father he is, Tony refuses. He regrets that decision quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI!
> 
> I'm so excited to be posting this and it's been so much fun working on this with Shoyzz!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy it! Leave all the comments letting us know what you think!
> 
> <3

Peter woke with a start, his eyes snapping open in a sudden movement. He was laid out on a cheap cot, every inch of his body was either numb and tingly, or racked with an ache that ran so deep he felt like he had been stabbed through the core forty times.

 

He coughed uncomfortably, clenching his numb fingers into a fist, blinking roughly to try and get the dim, rocky ceiling to swim into focus. A pain flickered from the centre of his chest outwards, and he winced, trying to stifle the tickle at the back of his throat, begging him to cough again. His eyes darted to a small bench beside him, his fingers far too frozen to pick up the water, instead knocking it aside with a clatter. Peter breathed unsteadily, beginning to panic as he took in the dark room he was sat in, alone, without his Dad.

 

There was a dull, green water jug, and Peter’s throat was so scratchy and dry he thought it would solve all of his problems, except that when he rolled to his side, something stopped him. His mind immediately faltered, worrying he was restrained by something or tied to the bed, but what he saw was much worse.

 

A large, dusty car battery was sat atop a table beside his cot, and when Peter threw his hand out to follow the red and black wires, they snaked up and under the heavy white bandaging wrapped around the most painful area of his chest. He grunted as he began feverishly tearing away the cloth, ripping strips in half and fearing whatever he was going to find. Even through the bandaging, the boy could feel the weighty object rested over his chest, and he slapped weakly at it, moaning in pain as a jolt of agony rushed outwards from the metal.

 

Tearing the last of the gauze away, Peter choked on a sob, staring at the circular disk embedded into his chest, wires and bolts gleaming in the low lighting. It hurt to breathe, but he was almost to the point of hyperventilating now, his chest heaving rapidly as he stared at the car battery, then back down to the _thing_ planted against his sternum. He could see his breath in the air, flowing out from his dry lips as he panicked.

 

\----

 

Tony grimaced as the burlap sack was ripped back off his head, he could feel the itchiness of the fabric already irritating the back of his neck, distracting him as a man shouted at him in a language he didn’t speak. Luckily, there was a separate guard who seemed somewhat able to translate the first man’s speech.

 

“We say welcome Tony Stark, the most famous mass murderer in the history of America.” He pauses, letting the obvious man in charge spit out more words, before translating in broken English. “We are honoured. We want you to build the missile, the Jericho missile you demonstrated.” A wrinkled and blurry photograph was handed to him, it was in fact the missile he had demonstrated earlier, the one which he was now regretting thoroughly. “This one,” the makeshift translator emphasized, taking the picture back from Tony.

 

He looked up at the man, his gaze unwavering. In all honesty, Tony couldn’t care less about anything other than Peter in that moment. All he could see was his son screaming and writhing on a surgery table, scalpels pressing into him, white cloth soaked in crimson. The man who had made the demands stared at him, his eyes narrowing in warning as he calculated the gleam of defiance in Tony’s eyes.

 

“Where’s my son?” He asked bluntly, disregarding everything the men had said to him. “I’m not building _anything_ until you let him go.”

 

The man and the rest of the guards glanced between each other, shocked that Tony was blatantly refusing. Anger peeled over his face and then the men were surging forward towards him.

 

\----

 

Hands were pressing down against Tony’s shoulders and neck, each pair keeping him shoved under the surface of the water, even as he struggled, bucking wildly and thrashing against the multiple grips, they held steady. He screamed, yelling over the pain of his lungs practically burning themselves to ash as the edges of his vision popped in grey and black circles.

 

The tightest of all the hands was the one fisted deep in his soaked hair. It yanked backwards and suddenly the rest of the resistance was released, letting Tony jerk backward, away from the tub which would be the setting of his nightmares for years to come. The two men holding him on either side, as well as the one holding his hair from behind, were all shaking him and screaming in different languages.

 

Tony blocked them out as he squeezed his eyes shut and gasped for air, heaving and sucking in like a dying fish. He didn’t see, but one of the men nodded, and then he was being forced forward again, barely given the chance to scream a second time.

 

The bottom of the tub flickered, and suddenly he was only seeing his child.

 

_‘Dad!’ Peter cried, flashes and reeling views of something in his chest, his body on the operating table, thrashing as much as Tony was in the tub. ‘Dad please!’_

_A bright, warm, yellow light, a jittery canvas of brightness, and then the pain in his lungs was so overwhelming he was torn away from the vision of his son._

 

Tony was forced out of the tub, someone screaming a poor translation of the word ‘Jericho’ into his face, spittle flying. He was shaken roughly, his neck snapping back as the men yelled with more anger than Tony had ever heard from someone.

 

\----

 

Peter whimpered as the metal door was kicked open, a flood of men bursting into his cell and picking up the car battery, thrusting it into his arms with a grunt and nudging him towards the door. Someone threw their arm out and halted him, his elbow bumping into the disk in his chest, making stars float past Peter’s eyes as he moaned and swayed on his feet, the pain making him lightheaded almost immediately.

 

“Wh - what?” Peter managed, before he was cut off by a sack being thrown and tugged down over his head. He jerked backward, the battery pulling closer to his chest even as the men forced him forward again. The boy stumbled, tripping over his own feet as he went, relying solely on the grips of the men to keep him upright as he teetered in any direction they made him turn in. He heard yelling, the sound of another door opening, someone struggling much like he had against the men.

 

“The Starks,” someone boomed in a thick accent, clapping their hands together as if eager for something. The sack was torn from Peter’s head, his curls bouncing at the quick movement, fluffing up wildly from the static electricity.

 

“ _Peter_!” He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light, but he didn’t need to see in order to recognise that voice. His head picked up, his hold on the battery tightening as he looked around for his Dad, desperately searching for him, just so he could know for a fact that he wasn’t alone anymore.

 

“Dad?” His eyes caught Tony’s the same time he called out. His father was soaked to the bone, not an inch of his hair, clothing or skin looked dry. His hair was messed up, it looked like someone had grabbed him by it, and there was a terrifyingly haunted look in his eyes which Peter hadn’t seen before.

 

“Oh no, no, no. _Pete_ …” Tony’s eyes flicked down to Peter’s chest, the car battery, wires, and the plate lodged into his body were all on display, only topped by the old, dried blood surrounding the last of the bandages.

 

“Dad… wh - why are you wet?” Peter asked shakily, his free hand curling out as he was marched right past his father.

 

“N - nothing buddy, just… had to take a shower.” Tony lied, wincing at the guilt of it. He was horrified as he watched the battery wires swinging as Peter walked, the electromagnet even more terrifyingly real when Peter was conscious and aware. He frowned when the men guided Peter past him, and he tracked them all with careful eyes, which widened when he realised where Peter was being made to kneel. “ _No_! No, you can’t. Please - please he’s a _child_!” Tony begged, beginning to struggle against the men holding him back. None of them said a word, they left everything up to Tony’s interpretation, making the entire ordeal that much more unknown to him.

 

Peter’s knees hit the rough ground, one of the men grabbing his hair as they had with Tony’s, leaning him slowly over the tub, teasing him. Unlike Tony’s hair, the cold dampness that hung in the air around the rooms they had been in made Peter’s hair fluff up, meaning the man gripping it had more of a handhold. 

 

Peter dropped the battery in his hurry to snap his arms out and grip the edge of the tub, preventing the men from leaning him any further forward. A small yelp was torn from the boy’s throat as one of the men grabbed his wrists, wrenching them behind his back forcefully, giving the rest of the guards the opportunity to force Peter even further forward, his face hovering above the tub, barely several inches from the water.

 

 

Tony froze, looking at his son, his hurt, scared, fourteen-year-old _child_.

 

He couldn’t let this happen to him, not now and not ever. Tony knew exactly how excruciating it was to be held under the surface until your lungs were about to give way, and there was no reality in which he would allow Peter to suffer through that. Especially now that he was hooked up to a live battery, one which could short out and electrocute him if it were to get wet.

 

He knew he couldn’t build a bomb for these people… but there was no way Peter would be dealt the same trauma Tony was already being handed. When it came down to it, he would relent to watch the world crumple as long as he could hold his son and keep him safe.

 

“I’ll do it! I’ll do it… just… I’ll do it.” He looked across at Peter’s tear-stained cheeks, the hand fisted in his soft curls, the pain and terror in his watery eyes. “Jericho, I’ll build the Jericho. Don’t - don’t do it, _don’t hurt my kid_.” The men smiled, pleased at how quickly he had caved.

 

“D - Dad? Dad please… what’s happening? Wh - why are they -” Peter was interrupted as the men yanked on his shoulder, tugging him back to his feet as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened, the tub now long forgotten as a bargaining tool. The cords and wires pulled taught and Peter cried out in pain, falling back to his knees and scooping up the battery as quickly as possible, hugging it against his stomach, panting as the stars and dots faded out from the edges of his vision.

 

Tony grimaced as he was shoved forward as well, him and Peter were almost close enough to bump shoulders. “Dad, _please_!” Peter begged as he was spun around and thrust in Tony’s direction. He gasped as his face hit Tony’s sternum and he curled into his father's arms, not caring about the throbbing protest of the thing in his chest, or the way Tony’s soaked shirt was dampening his cheek and side, making him colder in the already freezing room. He sighed, his breath still visible in the cool air, as he felt his Dad’s arm wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him closer as lips dipped downward to kiss the crown of his head.

 

“You’re gonna be okay, I _swear_ …” Tony murmured, burying his nose into Peter’s hair, frowning slightly when he felt the way the teen was shivering lightly in the cold. “I’ll get you something warm, I’m going to make sure you’re okay, I promise we’re gonna be okay.” Peter sniffled from where he was trying to shift the battery to the side, so he could pull himself tighter into the embrace. “I won’t let them hurt you, I’m not letting _anyone_ hurt you.” Peter’s fingers clenched tighter and he yelled angrily as he was torn backward again, his grasp slipping from Tony’s wet shirt.

 

“No, Dad!” He cried, fighting against the men because now he had a _reason_ to, now he had someone he wanted to be held by. Not even the plate in his chest could stop him from trying to claw his way back to his father.

 

Tony grunted as the back of his shin was kicked, prompting him to follow the group of men who were already in the midst of shoving a burlap sack over Peter’s head. His kid was by the door, before the men were turning him down the right hallway. He closed his eyes, hoping to prevent any urge to fight and gain himself more pain, as the men slipped another sack over his head. He instinctively turned right, to follow where Peter’s men had taken him, but the men grumbled incoherently and pushed him to the left, which set off red flags.

 

“No, wait - hey! My kid, take me wherever he’s going! Stop it, _stop_!” The only thing his renewed struggles earned him were more sets of hands shoving him further down the wrong hallway, leading him somewhere that _wasn’t_ where Peter had been taken to, or in other words, somewhere Tony wasn’t interested in going.

 

Through the thick sack over his eyes, he could only make out a few things, like the dim hallway lighting, or the dust falling as their footsteps pounded dirt out of place on the ceiling. He felt air hitting him, and it was much warmer than before, his clothes began to dry almost immediately, but Tony paid no mind as his sack was pulled away and he was blinded by sunlight.

 

Once his eyes adjusted, he could make out tent after tent of black-market weapons, all of them _his_. There were rocky mountains that spread out across the horizon for miles, and a sense of dread formed in the pit of Tony’s stomach.

 

_Even if him and Peter escaped… they wouldn’t have any cover or protection for at least a three days walk, not to mention heat exhaustion, or sunburn. Or if Peter’s battery ran out…_

 

A hand slammed into the back of his shoulder, making him stumble forward unsteadily as men in front of him yelled and waved their arms. He was guided around through the tents, there were crates upon crates of his weapons, boxes filled with guns, missile launchers, bombs that could destroy mountains, all of it with his name plastered across the side.

 

He was stopped, images of the bomb that hurt his child flickered in his mind as the obvious leader of their kidnapping stepped forward to address him. The man said something, raising his arms in a ‘look here’ gesture.

 

“We want to know what you think.” The other guard translated with a thick accent. He turned to face the man, tearing his eyes away from all of the weapons.

 

“I think you got a lot of my weapons.” He replied dryly, his voice blunt. The man ignored the clearly unhappy response and began speaking again. He was obnoxiously loud, it reminded Tony of how he used to be when he drank, it made him want to shove the man into one of the tents. But if he wanted to get back to Peter, he’d have to deal with the spittle which flew from the large man’s lips as he spoke, or rather, yelled.

 

“We have everything you need to build the Jericho missile. We want you to make a list of materials.” Tony stood with a stoic expression on his face as both men spoke, the leader yelling in another language while the other man translated poorly. “You will start working immediately, and when you are done,” both men watched his face, “we will set you free.” The leader held out his hand, his head tilted in question, waiting to see whether Tony would take the deal.

 

Tony accepted the hand, shaking it with the most insincere smile he had ever conjured. They would never let him go, but if he played his cards right, they might just be human enough to let Peter free.

 

“No, you won’t,” he said through the smile, knowing that at least one of the men understood him. That man only smiled wider, proving he knew exactly what Tony had said.

 

The mechanic turned to watch the horizon, his eyes catching the group of men who were standing, watching, with guns at their hips. _His_ guns. He swivelled to face the man who spoke the most English, a determination set deep in his core.

 

“One condition,” he pressed.

 

“That is?”

 

\----

 

The door shut behind him and he stumbled slightly, a bundle in his arms which he had negotiated for. There was movement from the corner of the room, he perked up slightly as a head of wild curls bounced in his direction.

 

“Dad!” Peter cried, running into him, his battery shoved under his arm, out of the way and to the side, so that he could cling to Tony. “Dad, what’s happening? Why were they asking you t -”

 

“No, shh, just wait a sec,” Tony interrupted, pulling back slightly. “I got you these, you need to put them on now though,” he whispered, sitting Peter down on a rickety cot that looked about as comfortable as sleeping on the ground. “You were shivering in the other room,” he explained, unfolding the small bundle and tucking a strand of fluffy curls behind Peter’s ear. He pulled a beanie over the teen’s head, handing him a pair of fingerless gloves to put on as he flapped an oversized and motheaten jacket to rid most of the dust. “Do you want to… can you lift your arms for me?” Peter looked up from where he had been picking at loose strings from the gloves, he saw Tony looking at the battery, so he pushed it off his lap so there was no way the jacket could catch on the cords attached to him. 

 

 

“It doesn’t hurt as bad as it looks,” Peter reassured, biting his lip as he picked up on the downcast look on his father’s face. “Thanks,” he mumbled dejectedly as Tony brushed the last of the dust from the shoulders of the jacket and perched himself beside Peter on the cot. He leaned his forehead against his Dad’s shoulder, looking at the floor absently as silence hung thick between them.

 

“There are cameras. No audio, just a security feed.” Tony watched Peter observe the camera for himself, watching it tilt from the corner of the room.

 

“Can I have a hug?” Peter asked softly, rubbing his palms over his fingertips to keep them warm. Tony nodded wordlessly and pulled Peter into his chest, cupping the back of his neck and resting his chin against the mess of unruly curls. “Why are we here? I don’t understand what they want…” Peter’s hand curled into a fist and Tony carefully unfurled it, instead taking them both in his own hands and rubbing gently, hoping to keep some of the warmth.

 

“They want the Jericho. I have to build it,” he answered flatly. Peter looked up at him, his eyes narrowed.

 

“Will you?” Tony lightly shushed him and continued to rub his fingers, subtly checking him over for injuries as well. He shrugged, looking across at a small area where there was probably enough cans of chilli to starve off their hunger for the night.

 

“I need to build you something first, to get rid of that stupid car battery,” he said bitterly. He scowled at the battery, wishing he knew how to fix the situation. 

 

“What about one of those reactors you have. If they can power stuff, couldn’t they power a heart too?” He looked down at Peter, surveyed him closely. 

 

“Probably. If I miniaturised it, maybe it could keep the shrapnel at bay until we get out of here and find some better surgeons.” He squeezed Peter’s hands, looking at his eyes and managing a small smile. “I’m gonna make sure you’re all good, okay? I’ll make it cool looking, better than that thing you got now.” 

 

“That would be preferable,” Peter huffed a light laugh, looking down at the ugly metal in his chest. “Thanks,” he murmured, leaning more of his body weight against his father's side. “You’re still kinda wet… you want the jacket?” Tony shook his head, scratching Peter’s head through the beanie and trying to keep his smile from slipping away.

 

“Nah, I’m good, I want you to be comfortable. It’s my fault you’re even here. I need to - I gotta keep you safe, okay? First priority no matter what.” Peter shivered again, not able to hold it back as the edge of the plate pushed against his skin a little closer.

 

“I just want you to be okay as well. I just want both of us to be okay again.” Peter yawned and Tony shuffled him slightly further back on the cot, trying to convince him to lay down. “C’n you stay?” He murmured sleepily, sounding that much less than the fourteen-year-old he was.

 

“Yeah Petey, I’m staying right here. I just have to get some food into you, okay?” He rested the back of his hand over Peter’s forehead, lightly running the pad of his thumb over his temple. “I’m sorry, you should’ve just stayed at home,” he sighed heavily, “Obie was right, a weapons demo is no place for a kid. Now look at you…” His eyes cast down to Peter’s chest and the teen looked back up at him sadly. “I’m going to fix it, I swear.”

 

“Don’t take the guilt, it wasn’t your fault. You’re just trying to spend more time with me, and I love coming along to your work stuff. Just bad luck I guess,” he positioned himself, resting his head against Tony’s leg, giving his hand a final squeeze before letting him get up to make food.

 

\----

 

Once they were finished, the two single cans which didn’t fill them up enough gone, Peter was curled up against Tony’s side. The boy’s breathing was even with the rhythm of sleep. Tony was propped up with one elbow, absently brushing the same stray curl on the teen’s face away as he concentrated on the materials list the me had wanted.

 

He needed supplies for a Jericho, he _wanted_ supplied which he could use to make a miniaturized reactor for Peter, as well as something which could get them out of the wet, cold cave. He pictured the crates of guns, the long distance that him and Peter would need to cover before they were even safe from the weapons firing range, not to mention the heat exhaustion, or how far the nearest town was.

 

He needed armour to protect them from the guns, and some sort of transportation which could get them far enough away from the major threats. He sighed once more and rubbed his forehead, straining to think.

 

The idea of a functional jetpack crossed his mind, but that was sci-fi movies talking, not practical. He leaned over and zipped Peter’s jacket up, hopefully keeping him warmer.

 

Armour and flight. That’s all he needed.

 

A suit of armour, firepower and some sort of thrusters to get him in the air.

 

A suit of armour, with built in thrusters? Maybe some literal firepower too, to destroy all the weapons that could potentially harm innocent people - people like Peter.

 

He was confident enough that the materials he needed were vague enough to not give away the fact that they were definitely _not_ to build the Jericho, but instead a reactor, a suit of armour with firepower and thrusters.

 

_Simple._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! And everyone give Shoyzz MAJOR props for her amazing art! <3
> 
>  
> 
> Her tumblr is @Shoyzz-Art and mine is @Agib-2002  
> <3


	3. Mushroom Cloud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI!
> 
> I'm so excited to be posting this and it's been so much fun working on this with Shoyzz!
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy it! Leave all the comments letting us know what you think!
> 
> <3

“Dad?”

 

“Just wait a sec –”

 

“Dad.”

 

“Pete hold on for a mi –”

 

“Dad!”

 

“What? What is it?” Tony finally caved, dropping his tools and turning to face Peter who was still worryingly pale in the face but standing firm with squared shoulders.

 

“It would be so much easier if you just let me help,” The boy stated. His face softened slightly when Tony just huffed quietly and turned back to the bench.

 

“I know, trust me I do. Just… just get some rest first, okay?” Tony pressed, still busy unscrewing the head off a missile.

 

“I just woke up… like two hours ago. Let me help.” Peter begged, reaching out and tugging his father’s sleeve.

 

“Okay, jeez,” Tony grumbled half-heartedly. He stuck one arm into the body of the barely de-assembled missile and pulled out a mass of tech. He twisted a set of pliers into the mound and came out with a tiny sheet of glimmering metal. “You see this?” He asked quickly, holding it up in front of Peter’s eyes.

 

“Uh huh,” the boy confirmed with a nod. “Um – what is it?”

 

“Palladium. Point one-five grams to be exact.” Tony paused, looking up to meet Peter’s eyes for a moment. “We need at least one point six. Let’s break down the rest.” Peter held his eye before nodding resolutely and shuffling towards the other missiles they would be taking apart. He had the car battery tucked beneath his arm. Tony gave a sad smile at the sight of it.

 

The two worked in silence for most of the days. Peter often dozed on one of the cots, Tony kept a steady stream of work to keep his hands moving and mind occupied. On the colder evenings when his joints stiffened and he worried about the raspy rattling coming from Peter’s soft breaths, he would crouch beside his cot and press a hand against his sweaty forehead for reassurance.

 

_He’s going to be okay. Another four days at the most and this thing will be built – then he’ll be alright_.

 

On day four, when Tony coaxed Peter to sit still enough to measure the dimensions of his chest, the boy piped up.

 

“That doesn’t look like a Jericho missile, Dad…” Peter licked his cracked lips, wrinkling his nose at the sensation of the cold on his face.

 

“That’s because it’s a miniaturised arc reactor,” Tony said simply. Peter’s eyebrow arched as his father flattened out a stack of tracing paper. He could see the design easily, but the cameras wouldn’t have been able to pick something like that up. “It’s our ticket out of here,” Tony said quietly.

 

\----

 

Peter squirmed uncomfortably after Tony helped him swap the reactor into his chest. “I know, but it’s saving your life,” Tony insisted. “And I can’t risk losing my little assistant,” he joked.

 

“Ha, ha,” Peter said dryly. “Well I’m not planning on going anywhere. Otherwise you wouldn’t have anyone to say that you look like a homeless business man.” Peter laughed, motioning to Tony’s scruffy, overgrown facial hair.

 

“Thanks, Pete. You always know what to say,” Tony rolled his eyes fondly.

 

Peter flinched suddenly, gaining Tony’s full attention. He dropped the welding torch he was holding and moved quickly away from the bench to zip Peter’s jacket up. The glowing blue of the reactor was swallowed beneath the thin fabric.

 

A small slot near eye-level on the metal door clanged shut, making Peter jerk once more in shock. “What was th –”

 

Tony was cut off as the entire door swung inward, allowing a dozen of the armed men into the cave. He lifted his hands behind his head on instinct, knowing he would regret it if he didn’t. On his left, he could see Peter wincing as he struggled to do the same. Lifting his arms that high must have put an uncomfortable strain on the reactor.

 

The last man strode into the room with his nose in the air, frowning darkly. Tony saw Peter biting his lip.

 

“Relax,” the man spat with a thick accent. He cruised past Tony; the edge of his large coat brushed past him. He looked like a vulture, and he was walking towards Peter, or more accurately his reactor.

 

The two of them lowered their arms tentatively. The fabric of Peter’s jacket had creased, making him look even smaller.

 

The man was clearly the leader, but as he stepped into Peter’s personal space, his fingers dragging the zip down and pulling his collar down to expose the reactor – Tony still felt like whacking him across the face.

 

Peter was trembling, Tony watched a shiver run up his spine as the man tapped a yellowing fingernail against the reactor. “The bow and arrow was once the pinnacle of weapons technology.” The man said evenly. “It allowed the great Genghis Khan to rule from the Pacific to the Ukraine. An empire twice the size of Alexander the Great and four times the size of the Roman Empire. But today, whoever holds the latest Stark weapons rules these lands. And soon it will be my turn.”

 

The man turned to face Tony, his hooked nose wrinkling in disgust. “What is all of this?” He demanded, gesturing to the tools and the furnace full of hot coals.

 

“The things I need to build the Jericho,” Tony lied through his teeth. The man hummed, shaking his head. He said something in a language Tony couldn’t understand but the other men in the room did. They surged forward, ignoring Peter’s flinch in favour of gripping his sides and pressing down on his shoulders until his knees hit the floor.

 

Tony clenched his fists and glared at the back of the leader’s bald head. “What do you want?” He asked, trying and failing to keep the desperation out of his voice.

 

The man didn’t answer, instead he roamed across the space and calmly picked up a pair of tongs, nodding his satisfaction to where his men were now forcing Peter’s neck forward until his cheek was pressed against the dirty surface of an anvil.

 

He was still speaking another language as he poked around in the flames and pulled out a large coal, it flickered red hot as he blew on it slightly. Tony bit back a growl.

 

Peter winced as the men pressed his hand over his forehead, pinning his face down as he lifted the coal.

 

“What are you building?” He asked venomously.

 

“Th – the Jericho missile,” Peter answered shakily.

 

“What. Are. You. Building?” The man asked again, bringing the coal closer.

 

“The J – Jericho!” Peter repeated, squeezing his eyes shut and biting the insides of his mouth. The coal was inches away from his cheek, tears prickled in his waterline and Tony opened his mouth to protest but was held up by the four guns aimed at his forehead.

 

“Wait!” Tony cried. “What do you want? A delivery date?” He asked, holding his arms up in surrender as the guns lowered slightly. The man holding the coal looked at him, still hovering it a few inches away from Peter’s skin. “I need him,” Tony pleaded. His voice crackled in fear. “Good assistant,” he explained.

 

The man stared for a moment longer, processing the plea. “ _Don’t_ ,” Tony tried again, quieter this time.

 

The coal hit the anvil, mere inches away from Peter.

 

“You have until tomorrow to assemble my missile,” the man said forebodingly.

 

Hands pulled away from Peter and he finally opened his eyes, seeing the coal and jolting into a standing position without more need for a prompt. He was breathing heavily, his shoulders shaking silently.

 

The man walked out of the room, the rest of his followers trailing not far behind. Tony waited until the door clanged shut before he crossed the room in two strides and grabbed Peter’s face, tilting it at all angles and hurriedly looking for an injury he hadn’t sustained.

 

“Are you oka –”

 

“Yeah.” Peter mumbled softly, letting Tony check him over.

 

“Did they hurt you?” He demanded.

 

“No, Dad I’m fi –”

 

“They didn’t break the reactor?” He interrupted swiftly.

 

“No!” Peter snapped, finally. “I – I’m okay. I’m good, just a – a little shaken up, okay?” He confessed. “I’m just scared,” he said quietly, sounding so much younger than Tony remembered.

 

“I know,” Tony whispered. “But it’ll be okay. Promise.” Tony softened, pushing some of the curls on Peter’s head back into place. “Let’s get building then I guess?”

 

\----

 

Tony built for the next eighteen hours. He sent Peter to the cot on hour seven, telling him to rest and stay warm for the night. He started assembling the suit on his own, but when Peter woke up, he padded around the cave, pushing safety gloves and bandaging in his direction.

 

“You’re going to be encased in a metal suit, Dad. If anything goes wrong –”

 

“Nothing will go wrong,” Tony interjected. “I’ll be fine, it’s you I’m worried about.” Peter rolled his eyes and Tony jabbed his stomach, “you have a plate of metal that’s keeping you alive, and it will be out of your chest for who knows how long, so we can power the escape suit. Roll your eyes again, I dare you, buddy.” Peter huffed, knowing he had lost.

 

“I feel like your job is the one with more risk, seeing as you’re gonna be the one getting _shot at_ , and I’m the one who stays back and avoids all confrontation.” Tony ignored Peter and continued to grumble under his breath as he welded the seam of the leg attachments.

 

There were bangs against the metal door and yelling from outside the cave. Tony gripped Peter’s shoulders and tapped his chin softly.

 

“You ready?” Peter nodded hurriedly. “Yeah?” Tony gasped, his heart racing. “Stick to the plan, stay back and wait till you’ve got the all clear.”

 

“Uh huh,” Peter murmured, tugging his sleeves down and taking a deep breath. “Are you?”

 

“As I’ll ever be,” Tony said, giving Peter a nudge. “Now go shelter yourself, kiddie.” Peter nodded again before skittering off to duck beneath one of the cots.

 

He watched the door, knowing that if anything went wrong, this would be the end of him. There was a small voice that whispered _they’ll take Peter, and get you to build the Jericho._ But he grit his teeth together and chose to watch the small explosive detonate as the armed men burst into the cave.

 

Tony squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face as the flames licked up to brush the roof of the cave. The floor vibrated with the energy from the blast and he could feel it in his bones. As soon as it had started, it was over, and Tony saw Peter rushing to his side.

 

“Did it work?” Peter chirped worriedly, scanning the hallway briefly for any stragglers before deciding he could get back to helping his Dad finish the suit.

 

“Y – yeah. Yeah, it did,” Tony breathed out heavily. “Now we uh, w – we need to attach the reactor…” he trailed off, wishing there was some alternative from using the only thing halting the shrapnel in his son to power the suit for their escape.

 

“Okay,” Peter said, he was less concerned then he should be. He pried his tiny fingers into the core of the reactor and tugged with a wince.

 

“Woah, woah – be careful!” Tony scolded, watching the technology unfold into Peter’s hand and press against the suit he was wearing. “I don’t want to be doing this,” he hissed as Peter shoved the reactor into his hand.

 

“I’ll be right behind you,” the boy assured. _His voice was already strained_. Tony stared at him for a long moment, half of his mind was screaming to just clear the hallways and get them out of the cave without the reactor and without firepower… but it wouldn’t work, and it just increased the possibility of Peter getting hit with a stray bullet.

 

“I love you,” he said calmly, pressing a button on the computer and watching the progress bar slowly loading up. It was taking far too much time; Tony was terrified of what was going to happen if things took too long. He would have to put the reactor back in Peter’s chest, possibly before they even made it outside.

 

“Love you too, Dad.” Tony turned to see the top of Peter’s curls poking out from behind the cots, he smiled through the intense worry in his gut and watched the progress bar finally hit one hundred percent.

 

The suit made a noise before the cave went silent. Tony turned towards the blown open entrance and forced his leg to move forward. The metal scraped against itself and gave away his position, but at least nobody would be focused on Peter.

 

The footsteps and yelling from down the twisting hallway grew louder with every step Tony took towards the doorway, but he knew every movement was drawing attention to him and not Peter.

 

“No Jericho!” Someone screamed from down the hall, their faded silhouette dispersing as they ran around the corner with two other men just behind them. They all froze as they saw Tony in the suit towering over them. One of them yelled something in another language but Tony lifted his arm and shoved them back into the stone walls before they could run.

 

“Dad? A – are you okay?” Peter called worriedly as he heard the crashes.

 

“Yeah, stay back, there are guns!” Tony warned, turning back to face the next two men who were beginning to fire at him. The bullets pinged off the chest piece and left nothing more than an array of small dents in the metal. They didn’t last long against Tony after he swung his arm back into their faces.

 

Tony looked down at himself and grimaced behind the faceplate as he remembered he was currently using his son’s reactor to power the suit. He ploughed forward, knowing time was quickly running out for Peter.

 

He was wiping out man after man, letting every bullet ricochet off him like they were nothing more than pebbles. But he still hadn’t cleared the last room, the one barricaded with a poorly welded door. He knew Peter couldn’t come out of the cave until the last room was empty.

 

There was yelling from behind the door, Tony could vaguely recognise some insulting nicknames thrown around – the men were bickering like children as he began punching the door inward.

 

Three sizeable dents later Tony had pinned two men beneath the door and had successfully knocked out the remaining four. The last man had shot himself in the head after attempting to shoot the faceplate. 

 

The final man standing between the shaft of outside light and Tony was the one who seemed to be the leader – the one who had dared to prod Peter’s reactor and pick up a burning coal as a threat.

 

“Dad, watch out!” Tony heard before the wall three inches to his right was alight with flames and his ear was ringing. He swivelled around to see the man frantically loading a missile launcher that Stark Industries had manufactured in two-thousand and one.

 

Tony bared his teeth beneath the mask and raised his left arm. His own projectile slammed into the wall beside the man who fired first, searing one side of his face and leaving him on the dirt covered floor amongst the rubble.

 

“Peter!” Tony cried, “I told you to wait for the all clear!” Peter bounded into the newly emptied cave with a struggle, collapsing against a stack of sand bags. He gasped heavily and closed his eyes as he caught his breath.

 

“Come on, we got to go,” Tony begged, lifting the faceplate and staring at Peter’s too-pale face. “Move for me, come on. We got a plan, we’re gonna stick to it,” he begged. “Pete,” he choked, “I know it’s hard kiddie, but we need to move.” His voice stuck in his throat and he reached out to brush Peter’s sweaty curls back with his gloved fist. “Kid,” he managed, blinking back a burning sensation which he refused to admit were tears.

 

Peter blinked sluggishly, his chest rising and falling gracelessly as he groaned thickly.

 

“Y – you clear… c – clear outside… I’m – m’ gonna w – wait here,” he whispered. A weak hand pushed Tony backward.

 

“Okay… o – okay, yeah. You keep your eyes open though,” Tony mumbled as the faceplate snapped back into place. “I won’t be more than a minute,” he promised. “Be ready to ditch this joint.”

 

\----

 

Everything was orange. Everything burned. The bullet shells were exploding and the flaming tins of Stark weaponry looked about ready to send the camp up in a giant mushroom cloud.

 

Tony needed Peter. Peter needed the reactor. Peter was still in the cave.

 

_The cave_.

 

“Pete! Peter! Where are you?! PETER!” Tony screamed, shoving crates of weapons aside and disconnecting his flamethrowers in hope that he could move faster. “Peter, we have to go! Pete?!”

 

“Dad?”

 

Tony kicked the last box aside and ignored the deathly rattle of bullet shells popping from behind him. He heard Peter – he saw him at the lip of the cave, on his hands and knees. He was sheet white and sweating like he had crawled a marathon.

 

He pulled him into his arms and felt Peter’s fingernails scrabbling at the metal of the suit. He smashed the red eject button and squeezed his son closer as the thrusters powered up and threw him upward into the air.

 

The two of them made it to the height of a three-story building before the entire base blew up from beneath them.

 

And then the thrusters stalled.

 

The sand dunes rose alarmingly to meet them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! And everyone give Shoyzz MAJOR props for her amazing art! <3
> 
>  
> 
> Her tumblr is @Shoyzz-Art and mine is @Agib-2002  
> <3


End file.
